


refuge in arms i hate

by softkrieg



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Angst, I am so sorry, Lots of Angst, M/M, quarantine is making me go insane, they have a complicated past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23574079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softkrieg/pseuds/softkrieg
Summary: He’s everything I stand against.That putrid man. His short-sighted fascist ideals, his twisted view of the world, and that warped belief that he was in every way superior to those that he deemed different from himself.It disgusts me. He disgusts me.So tell me, dear Marx, why do I feel safe in his arms?
Relationships: Authright/Authleft, authleft/authright, authunity
Comments: 15
Kudos: 88





	1. nazi is totally not jealous

**Author's Note:**

> okay so BASICALLY , first time writing stuff like this and im pretty bad at characterization so sorry if some people seem out of character!! i just wanted to write auth unity leave me alone

Tensions weren’t this heated between the two authoritarians since Molotov-Ribbentrop was broken.

Ancap had departed earlier in the evening after the two authoritarian ideologies had both snapped at him, making him leave the house to move onto other endeavors. Now the only two people left in the house were Commie and Nazi. Though neither of them was particularly sad about Ancap’s departure, there was now no-one that would fill the confronting awkward silence that the two always seemed to conjure up whenever they were near.

They sat at the opposite heads of the table. Nazi glared with contempt towards Commie, but without response he stared down at the floor with jaded eyes and a slight frown.

Commie had been acting… different, ever since Ancom had transformed into Post-Left, and it was evident that Nazi had noticed. 

It was the small things - not responding condescendingly whenever he made a purposely snarky statement that hoped to rile Commie up, or not physically attacking Ancap with the ferocious vigor that he was known for. He had devolved into a husk of his former self in Nazi’s eyes, a pitiful representation of the State that he preaches for. 

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Nazi sputtered out, breaking the silence. 

Commie barely reacted, his gaze still fixated below him. 

“This display of weakness is decadent, Commie, especially for someone that used to be a Statist icon.” He growled, his hands twitching on the table. "You claim that you find strength in the state, yet you have been weeping about this weak-minded anarchist day in day out."

Commie scrunched his face up, veins popping out from his skin. He mumbled something under his breath.

“Your reliance on that impure wretch is absolutely embarrassing!” Nazi’s voice strained.

The communist clenched his fists tightly, fingernails digging into his hands, biting his teeth together.

Nazi sprang up from his chair. "This is pathetic, Commie." He declared, his voice echoing through the room. "This isn't- This isn't you!" 

Commie's body jolted towards Nazi. He shook his head, his neck twitching from anger. "You don't know who the fuck I am," Commie's voice boomed, suddenly jumping out of his seat, pushing the table back as he lept out. The bass in his voice vibrated, bouncing from the walls. "You have no fucking idea, who, I, am!" He roared, slamming his fists down on the table with tremendous force, making the plates and cutlery clatter against the wood, arms trembling and breath stressed, his gaze sharply piercing Nazi’s eyes. For a moment the social darwinist stared back in awe, his heart skipping a beat - momentarily being reminded of the old flames of passion Commie used to proudly boast.

The silence afterwards dragged on for uncomfortable seconds that felt like hours. Eventually it was broken by a heavy sigh. Nazi rubbed his eyes, his palm moving to cover the lower half of his face. His gaze was averted, away from Commie’s intimidating figure. Once he had mustered up the courage to look at him again, his angry expression turned to a look of disappointment.

“I thought you were stronger than this, Commie.” He relented, walking away to his room, giving one last look of pity at the communist before he shut the lights off, closing the door behind him.

Commie sharply inhaled, burying his face in his hands. It was hard to pinpoint the correct emotional response for the situation. Was he angry? Distraught? Frustrated? Sad? Maybe all of them, but the feelings muddled together so much that they were almost indistinguishable from each other. He wanted to burst into tears then and there, but his conscience conflicted with himself, letting not a single tear slide down his cheek. He shuffled over to the fridge, opening it. The dim yellowish light illuminated the dark living room. Sheepishly reaching out to the back, he grabbed a bottle of unopened vodka. It would be one of those nights.

He let himself sink into the couch, pinching his eyes, drinking - as he did many late nights to cope with the inner turmoil he’d been suffering from. It was almost therapeutic. Who could he vent out his emotional discourse to? No one. No one that was still here, anyways. 


	2. internalized degeneracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when i look at your lips i feel a sense of warmth rush under my skin, but i can't forget the things i did to you

“Still up?”

Commie heard footsteps stumble into the living room accompanied with the sound of the fridge opening. His surroundings were briefly illuminated with the glow of the freezer light before the fascist had collapsed next to him on the couch. He held a canned beer in his hand, and he pulled open the tab to let way the familiar sound of a fresh beverage being opened. Nazi exhaled, taking a big gulp of the drink.

“Ugh, this is good.”

“What are you doing here?” Commie’s voice was stern and sharp, cutting the atmosphere that Nazi had anticipated.

“What does it look like? Late night drink. Thought you’d be familiar.” 

“Get out.”

“What, I’m not allowed to share the couch anymore?"

"This is not a good time.”

“Look. I…” Nazi lamented. He sighed, taking generous sips from the can, momentarily pausing.

He turned to Commie.

“Sorry about what I said. Last night.”

Commie did not reply, instead turning away from him, taking another hearty drink from his vodka bottle. 

"I guess I was mad," he continued, genuine contemplation in his voice.

Commie was struck with reminiscence of the past. He had remembered late nights like these, the two authoritarians drinking together, and Nazi monologing in a drunken daze. During those times Commie would rarely speak, and listen to the things he said. It was surprising how words of sincerity and hatred mixed together came out of the fascist's mouth.

"Mad at what?" His voice, though still stern, was noticeably more composed.

The Nazi buried his face in his hand, seemingly out of shame. "No, I-I just, I-, I miss-" He cut himself off, sharply taking in a breath.

"I miss you. I miss us."

Taking a moment to process what degeneracy had just come out of his mouth, the identitarian scolded himself. "Actually, nevermind. Forget this." He blurted out, staggering up from the couch.

He had almost gotten up and left before he felt Commie tug at his shirt, pulling him back. 

"No. Wait."

Nazi felt faint butterflies in his stomach. His mind insisted that this was degeneracy, that he should slap the bolshevik in the face and head back to bed, but his heart yearned and longed for an old flame desperately to be rekindled.

He bounced back onto the couch, close to Commie, their shoulders just barely touching.

Nazi felt a sense of relief and sanctuary near the communist, but he dared not admit it. 

Commie longed to snuggle up in Nazi's embrace right there, to feel that warn sensation of his arms wrapped around his waist and chest, - but those childish desires were naive and foolish.

The two had easily gotten on before, especially when they had worked together as partners during the war. Though neither would admit it, they both shared fond memories of those days. Getting drunk with each other, constantly arm wrestling (even though Tankie would almost effortlessly beat Nazi each time,) and talking about the million different ways you could divide Poland.

But those days are long gone now, and to want to indulge oneself in those empty memories of the past is needy and selfish.

And so for a moment they sat in silence, drinking.

Yet still, they slowly inched closer, shuffling across the sofa, moving closer and closer. Skin pressed on skin, warmth in the cold of the night.

Companionship. Bliss. Comfort.

Commie turned his head, gazing at Nazi. His eyes were mysterious, so hard to decipher yet glowing with a tinge of compassion, and he was the first to lean in. Nazi followed. Their eyes shut and their lips met, the soft feeling of gentle warmth and empathy exchanged through their mouths, finding themselves knotted up in their past, how immoral it may have been. They felt the sharp hint of alcohol remnant on their lips, and the tip of their tongues met, passion melting through their hearts, like liquid gold flowing down their bloodstream. 

It was only for a few seconds, as Commie leaned further in, Nazi abruptly flinched back, breaking contact and once again surrounded by the cold bite of the evening. His mind screamt at himself, mentally discarding anything his heart longed for.

It was wrong. He was wrong. It would be selfish to return back to this old companionship, the desire of a partner, perhaps even love, for he had been the one to ruin it all, right? He had been the one that stabbed Commie in the back, to betray his trust, to turn behind him and exploit him.

He wasn't allowed to do this, not since the emotional scarring he put Tankie through after he left. He could not do it again. He would not let himself do it again.

"What's wrong?" The communist's voice was soft and endearing.

"No," He stammered out, backing away from him. "This isn't right." He adjusted the collar of his uniform, clearing his throat, standing up. 

He hastily left the room, his thoughts in mumbled rush, leaving Commie once again alone in the dark. He sighed, setting down his vodka, sipping some of the beer that Nazi had forgotten to take with him.

He too, had not forgotten those scars of the past, and had vowed to never forgive the fascist for what he had done.

But in that moment where their two lips had met after what felt like eternities, even if it was just for a few seconds, he could swear he was having second thoughts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they drink to forget what can i say


	3. whisk me away in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i look back on those times when we were still friends. were we ever more than just that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a memory from the past, set in Brest-Litovsk after the recent joint invasion of Poland in September.

Men dressed sharply in field gray suits marched uniformly as one, their boots stomping on the concrete rhythmically with each step. In their arms they firmly gripped crimson flags, held high above their heads, flown proudly in the air. The fantastical blare of horns trumped their surroundings, the crowd’s ears being greeted with familiar traditional marching songs. Commie looked at the parade in awe, not able to peel his eyes away from the presentation for even a second. 

Nazi feverishly grinned, holding his head high. “Impressive, hm?”

Commie turned to him, a smile on his face. “You know how much I love displays of strength, comrade.” 

The fascist flushed at the sound of the bolshevik calling him comrade. Of course, only from the glee that their purely business-only bond had grown stronger. Nothing more. 

They stood firmly next to each other, and they admired the parade. Nazi proudly saluted whenever the Germans made an appearance, and Commie found himself cheering whenever his comrades showed up. 

The parade lasted for another hour, the rhythmic booming of boots marching slowly fading out, and the prestigious fanfare of trumpets eventually falling silent. Day became night, the amber sun finally setting across the conquered city of Brest-Litovsk. 

Nazi mumbled under his breath. “Ah, shit.”

Commie glanced over. “What?” 

“I missed my cab. I won’t be able to head back to Berlin until tomorrow morning.” 

The communist scoffed. “You were planning on going home?” He tugged at Nazi’s uniform, leading him to the town. “C’mon, there’s a bar open.” 

The two walked across the dimly lit street. Rubble and damage from the buildings was still visible from the invasion as the Polish had resisted with underestimated force. Many businesses had been closed due to the carnage, but there were some that withstood the destruction. 

The fascist shivered when the nightly breeze blew through the streets, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. Commie noticed, softly chuckling. “What, is it too cold for you?” 

“Shut up,” Nazi hissed. “These uniforms are thinner than they look.” 

“It isn’t even cold.” 

Nazi groaned, eagerly walking into the bar, though still cold, it was at least warmer than the outside. “I fucking hate slavic winters.”

They both took a seat at the bar stand, Commie motioning for the bartender to come. 

“Two vodkas.” 

The man nodded, walking away to prepare the drinks. Commie looked back at Nazi, noticing how he still had his arms wrapped around his chest. “Are you actually that freezing?” 

“Yes, idiot.” He grunted, sinking into his shoulders. 

“Karl fucking Marx, you krauts are weird as fuck.” He teased, taking off his leather coat, draping it over Nazi. “I’m in a fucking shirt and I feel absolutely fine.”

“You russians are freaks of nature.” Nazi groaned, putting the jacket on. He was actually very glad that Commie had given it to him, but of course, he wouldn’t care to say it.

The bartender set down the two glasses of vodka next to them, and Commie nodded in thanks. He shuffled one over to the fascist, quickly drinking his own glass. 

Nazi shot a look of hesitancy at the clear drink, deciding to only sample a tiny amount, quickly throwing the shotglass down onto the counter. He felt the liquid burn down his throat, a strong aftertaste lingering in his mouth. “Holy fuck, this tastes absolutely horrible.” 

Commie stared at him in amusement. “Do you need something a little lighter?”

Nazi squinted at Commie, still coughing from the strong liquor. “Does this place serve any traditional German beers?” 

“You aren’t in fucking Bavaria, dumbass.” He snickered. “Just keep drinking until it starts tasting better.” He finished off his shot in a single gulp, gesturing for a refill. “You know, when we first met, it didn’t cross my mind we’d get along so easily.” 

“If you call this getting along.” He hesitantly took another sip from his drink. 

“Come on. Stop acting like you aren’t enjoying this.”

Nazi placed his shoulders on the wooden counter, resting his head against his arms, one still out with the shotglass in his hand. “Do you russians ever get tired?” He snarked, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

“No, not really.” The communist smiled, feeling himself fall a little drowsy. “Not until after substantial amounts of alcohol.”

“Mhm.” The fascist yawned, subconsciously leaning closer into Commie. “Well,” He exhaled. “I think I’ve had a substantial amount of alcohol.” 

Commie put an arm around Nazi, letting his head rest on his chest.

It would be at this moment that Nazi would snap and call Commie out for degeneracy, but quite frankly he was too drunk to care, and besides, it was rather warm and comfy with the communist by his side. Still just business partners, though. This relationship exists purely for mutual benefit, that was it. 

“Th...Thanks…” Nazi’s speech was noticably more slurred, with yawns in between each word. “Thanks for the… the coat.” He trailed off, soon dozing off in Commie’s arms.

“No problem.” He cooed, lifting the fascist up by his back and knees, walking out of the bar and paying the tab on his way out. He carried him on foot to the nearest hotel and checked in, plopping him down on the bed just large enough for two. Even in his sleep, it felt like the Nazi was glued onto his arm.

Soon the communist’s exhaustion caught up with him, and he found himself comfortable under the sheets with Nazi resting by his side. Yes, he was snoring, rather loudly in fact, but it didn’t bother him. His eyelids slowly shut, and he muttered a few more words before he fell into his own slumber.

“Good night, romashka.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hgngnghhgnghghggghgghh its 2 am i am making so many mistakes with my life


	4. Chapter 4

"You aren't going to apologise?" Commie leaned on the fridge, his arms crossed.

Nazi glared coldly at him. "For what?" He hastily paced to the kitchen, motioning for Commie to step aside from the fridge. He didn't budge.

"Last night. Are you not going to say sorry?"

"I already did." He growled, wincing at the thought of the previous night. He tried to shove the communist aside, but his large frame proved difficult to move by force.

"No, not that." Commie grumbled, ignoring the fascist's pitiful attempts to move him.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck do you want?" 

Commie reached out, placing a hand on Nazi's shoulder. He flinched backwards, his face scrunching up in disgust and frustration.

"Don't fucking touch me."

He sighed, awkwardly moving his hand away. "Are you just going to pretend last night didn't happen?"

"Just let me open the fridge,"

"Stop trying to change the subject." Commie rebuked. His height loomed over Nazi, towering over him. "We need to talk about last night."

"About what?" He hissed, facing upwards to match his height. "You were the one that tried kissed me first, weren't you?"

"And you kissed back."

"It's been fucking decades, Commie, you need to get your ass over this." He spat, not realising the hypocrisy of his own statement.

"Then what the fuck was that talk about  _ missing _ me?"

For a moment Nazi stood there, silent, because in truth he had no real answer. "I was drunk, I was not in my pure state of mind-"

"That's a lie and you know it." Commie interjected. He sighed, finally stepping away from the fridge. "Next time make up your fucking mind."

Nazi stood in place, freezing his thoughts in his mind. For weeks, maybe even months, he'd found himself silently longing for the old flame he had with Commie to rekindle, but when he was given the chance, he gave up on it. Could he trust himself to not backstab him another time over? 

No. He had to be strong. To engage with any kind of relationship with the Bolshevik would be degeneracy, and such weakness had no place in the state. The thought of it made him sick to the stomach. At least, that was what he told himself - to just keep repeating those thoughts in his mind.

_ I hate him.  _

_ I loathe him. _

_ I despise him. _

His gut curdled up in discomfort as he jut open the fridge door, looking for anything that seemed half-edible as he tried not to make eye contact with Commie while he loomed beside him. 

Finally, Nazi settled for some leftover pizza that had been stuffed in the corner of the fridge. He awkwardly shut the fridge and shuffled out of the room, ignoring Commie’s presence.

The communist sighed as the fascist quickly paced out of the room. He had been all too familiar with his bipolar behaviour and inexplicable fits of temper, but usually he’d would be indifferent to such changes in conduct. For some unspoken reason - he was hurt. 

The conflict in emotions was hard to decipher. For one he was pissed off at him - angry for how he tried to treat the events that transpired the other night as a passing drunken mistake. Then again he felt dejected for reasons that were not so clear to him; and perhaps he even had a strain of hope that still lived on, still striving off from the momentary bliss of lips touching, the soft feel of his cheeks and skin under his hands, him gently caressing his neck while -- 

Stop. 

_ It was long over, _ he thought to himself.

To attempt to relight a burnt-out wick is pointless. 


End file.
